


Connection

by thebeastbiscuit



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Book 6: Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince, Death Eaters, F/M, Legilimency, Mudblood, Muggle-born, Mystery, OC, Occlumency, Romance, Room of Requirement, Slow Burn, Slytherin, Soft Draco Malfoy, Stalking, Teen Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-21
Updated: 2019-05-21
Packaged: 2020-03-09 00:46:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Underage
Chapters: 6
Words: 8,273
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18906073
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thebeastbiscuit/pseuds/thebeastbiscuit
Summary: The sole Slytherin muggle-born, determinedly independent, finds herself compelled to Draco Malfoy through a mysterious connection they share.





	1. Chapter 1

Even though I was in my sixth year at Hogwarts, I still didn’t understand why the Sorting Hat deemed me to a life of constantly wearing forest green, easily the ugliest color ever.

Maybe it was because of all the times I used my then-unknown magical talents to burn ants on the sidewalk. Or that time when I ripped out a curly lock of my twin brother’s hair in anger from a grudge long forgotten.

Regardless, I didn’t always feel the same as the people in my house. Most of them called me “mudblood,” anyway. I was the only Slytherin without at least one magical parent—why? Maybe because the more magic there is in a wizard’s bloodline, the more powerful he can be. Maybe this meant I had some serious deep-rooted capacity for greatness that hadn’t yet reared its head. Awesome! 

But it still sucked not being able to make the classic Spongebob references that got easy laughs back home or share my favorite music with the few friends I had. And it wasn’t like I was going to talk to any of the non-Slytherins; they were all either way too intellectual, stuck-up, or useless. So I stuck with my little group of Slytherins who didn’t mind that I was still a little lost in this world.

Oh, who was I kidding. I didn’t have a group. There were some people I could talk to in class, but when it came down to it, I didn’t have anyone I could truly trust. I sat in a corner of the common room and practiced jinxes on first-years—who wanted to hang out with someone like that? Someone in a different house would answer “All Slytherins, of course,” but normal Slytherins behaved differently amongst their own: Always in close groups, watching each other’s backs, ensuring everyone had a niche to become the best wizard or witch they could be. But thanks to my less-than-smooth start (the obvious mudblood joining the Slytherin table for the first time, greeted with odd looks and unenthusiastic applause), I’ve had a bit of a harder time finding friends. 

All those years ago, however, there was one other muggle-born among us, a seventh-year wizard who was surprisingly very well integrated--and  _ very _ dreamy. He was the first one to help me get used to the wizarding world, and I followed him around for most of that year, maybe for the help, maybe for the excellent view. But then he left and got a desk job at the Ministry, we lost touch, and I began drifting from group to group.

Not many called me Chrysanthemum Campbell, but I didn’t mind. It was a weird name anyway. Instead, I was Chrys the muggle-born.

Now, very late on a Sunday night, after everyone else had gone down to their dormitories, I remained seated in my normal secluded chair, relishing in the fact that I was completely alone. I did this most nights; I never felt the need to sleep much, and sometimes I’d even set up traps for unsuspecting night-lurkers. As I sat watching the last embers of the fire die and ignoring the seeping chill of the dungeon, suddenly a shiver ran down my spine. This wasn’t from the cold: I’d become aware of a presence in the room. 

Invisible in my dark corner, I spun my head around, eyeing the shadow I’d seen walk out from the entrance to the boys’ dormitories. The figure was moving swiftly and silently until  _ BANG _ , it tripped over a small table I’d discreetly placed in front of the hearth and face-planted, a contorted silhouette. I snorted with laughter.

The boy quickly turned his head to the sound and I realized this was no silly third-year trying to sneak out to see his girlfriend—this was Draco Malfoy. Intimidating, popular,  _ sexy _ Draco Malfoy. He rose faster than I could blink and stalked over to find out who’d witnessed his humiliation, and when he was close enough to recognize my amused face, he scoffed.

“You didn’t see this, Campbell.” My smile faded.

But when our eyes had made contact, my mind flashed. It felt like nothing I’d ever experienced before, but it was gone before I could make sense of it. Disturbed, I brushed the feeling off.

Malfoy hesitated, then turned swiftly and took the steps out of the common room two at a time, surprisingly agile after his fall and in near-total darkness. I was tempted to follow him and see what he was up to, but it all felt…wrong. Sinister. What kind of business did a  _ prefect _ have in the castle after hours? Instead, I reluctantly slunk out of the chair, placed the table in its rightful spot, trudged down the stone steps to my dormitory, and fell into bed. My mind was still working over the memory of Draco’s shadowed face looming above me, clearly up to something.

I’d hoped to get some undisturbed sleep before classes the next morning, but instead, my slumbering mind remained in the castle. My dream-vision was hazy, thoughts unfocused. I was walking down a hallway I’d never seen before, stopping before a wall which blossomed into an ornate door. I felt nervous. I wasn’t supposed to be there--but I had to be. I had to make it work. Wait, what had to work? Dark clouds began to envelop my sight as I walked into the mysterious room. There were rows and rows of seemingly useless objects, but I knew which one I needed to find and where to find it. As I walked through the room, I passed a broken mirror laying haphazardly against a shelf, glanced into it and saw my face--no,  _ Malfoy’s _ face. 

With a jolt, I was no longer wandering the castle; I was sitting bolt upright in my bed, in pitch darkness, drenched in sweat. Disoriented, I glanced around at the other girls, who were all sleeping soundly, and fell back into my pillows. And before I could form a coherent thought about what had just happened, I was out again.

~~~~~

In what felt like seconds later, I was awoken by the sound of Pansy Parkinson and Daphne Greengrass chattering as they got ready for class. Millicent Bulstrode was still snoring--none of us would bother waking her up. Dazed from my tumultuous slumber, I stumbled out of bed and could barely manage to keep my eyes open as I blindly threw on some robes.

The dream had felt so real. Why was I dreaming that I was Malfoy? Was I too obsessed with figuring out what he was up to?

I shook the thought off. Having potions class at eight in the morning on a Monday with that bloke Slughorn was not my cup of tea, but I needed to focus for it. Speaking of tea, I wished I could’ve had a cup. I could’ve used the caffeine. 

I missed when Professor Snape was still teaching it—I’d always been awful at potions, but at least he favored us Slytherins. Now with Slughorn being the house-traitor he was, everyone was treated the same. Resentfully I stood over my cauldron, and as I was attempting my brew of Liquid Death I couldn’t help but make sidelong glances to Malfoy’s table, where he sat hunched in concentration. He clearly needed that prize of Felix Felicis for something.

Last night’s circumstances had instantly made him so mysterious to me. I watched his long, pale fingers tremble slightly as he dropped ingredients into his cauldron and saw his straight blonde hair fall into his ice-blue eyes, baggy and dark from lack of sleep, as he skimmed his potions book. His tall, slender body was straining to reach an ingredient—

“Hey Campbell, watch yourself,” said Tracey Davis, a Slytherin who was sharing the table with me. I snapped back to reality and gasped at the small flame that had begun to rise off the surface of my potion. Frantically trying to wave out the fire, I caught the attention of a group of Gryffindors, who began to cackle at my misfortune.  _ What a bunch of pricks _ , I thought.  _ They’re not doing any better.  _ I hoped desperately no one else saw as I quickly threw in some more ingredients to try and smother it, then flopped down onto my stool once I finally succeeded. Utterly mortified, I forced myself not to look over to Malfoy again. I didn’t want to see his pretentious sneer directed at me. 

I dragged myself through a few more classes until I found myself in my regular spot at lunch in the Great Hall, sitting with a few Slytherins who were chatting merrily about the upcoming quidditch game. Tuning them out, I finally allowed myself to glance over to where Malfoy, Pansy, Blaise Zabini and a few others of the more well-liked Slytherins sat. Pansy was sitting  _ extremely _ close to Malfoy, occasionally touching his arm or talking into his ear, while he sat sulking over his plate, leaning slightly away from her as if repulsed. Pansy caught me staring at them from down the table and—did she hiss? Surely she didn’t hiss at me. I spat back in her direction and her pug-face scrunched up as she deliberately moved herself even closer to Malfoy. 

Pansy was the first one to call me “mudblood.” The one who taught me that there’s shame in my bloodline. So it’s safe so say I’ve got some beef with her.

But of course, Malfoy was the second.

I glanced one more time at the two before finishing off my plate, but this time, I instantly met Malfoy’s piercing eyes. He’d been staring at me. And there was that feeling again: the instant flash of something entirely foreign...almost like a different mind. What the hell was that? And what was his expression as he was looking at me--pity? Fear? My heart stopped and before I could think I was turning away, grabbing my bag and getting away as fast as possible.


	2. Chapter 2

That night I found myself up late in the common room again in a chair closer to the hearth. This time, though I denied it to myself, I was secretly hoping I’d catch Malfoy again. I couldn’t get my mind off that dream, that vision which had felt so real. I needed to know what he was up to. So I waited. And waited. I noticed the cuff of my robe was singed slightly from the blaze I’d started in potions, and was fiddling with the frayed threads, when the last light from the fire was snuffed by a falling ember and the room was plunged into total darkness. Undeterred, I remained alert for any sounds of footsteps. 

By the time I heard the expected  _ click  _ from the boys’ dormitory door, my mind had almost drifted away from its task into sleep. My head snapped up and I listened intently to hear where Malfoy was at. Tonight, I was going to follow him. I couldn’t stand the curiosity.

Listening for the soft scuff of his feet, I slowly crept behind, every movement calculated and delicate. I surprised myself with my own stealth; as a tall, skinny girl, I was slightly more prone to tripping over everything which stood in my way. But I controlled my breathing and with each step came closer to discovering Malfoy’s secret. 

I watched at a distance as Malfoy slunk silently along the dungeon wall, as if he’d done this hundreds of times before. How many nights had he slipped past me in the common room? 

Something about it all gave me the creeps. I knew something wasn’t right. This wasn’t a lighthearted adventure for late-night tea. This was something I should not involve myself in. There was something about the way he was moving: with extreme caution, constantly checking over his shoulder, afraid of being caught. But I continued to follow, acting on instinct.

Still disguised in the darkness, I accidentally kicked a rock with my shoes which went clanging through the narrow passageway, echoing excruciatingly loudly against the smooth stone walls. Malfoy froze. I threw myself against the wall, unable to breathe. Seconds passed. A minute. Both of us stood completely unmoving, afraid to make another sound. 

And without a sound or flourish, he began to walk again. He was traveling to a part of the castle which was only vaguely familiar until he finally stopped at a door so grand, you’d think someone might have noticed it before--except I had. It was the door from my dream, the one which had made itself appear before me. And now, it appeared before Malfoy.

Before entering, he swept his eyes over both ends of the corridor, not spotting my narrow form watching from behind a corner. Once Malfoy was inside I darted to get to the door before it closed, and barely made it through the crack as it slammed shut behind me, my eyes squinted in fear, my hair in my face. Slowly I pulled my hair behind my ears and looked around.

It was the same room I’d seen in the dream, filled to the ceiling with junk. Malfoy had been getting up in the middle of the night every night to go to a huge storage closet, and somehow, I’d seen this in my sleep.

From behind a gigantic pile of books, I watched him carefully make his way through the rows and rows of discarded items, his back hunched with exhaustion and his hair dull and messy. He knew what he was looking for. I crept behind, dangerously close so I could keep up in the maze of items seemingly thrown about. We passed the same broken mirror I’d seen before, but this time, my own pale face framed with short brown hair was looking anxiously back at me in the reflection. This wasn’t a dream. I had to be very careful.

After a few more minutes of weaving through the mess, Malfoy finally stopped in front of...a cabinet? He goes to a giant room filled with stuff to go to a piece of furniture filled with stuff?

I watched with anticipation, shrouded in the shadow of one of the piles, as Malfoy opened the cabinet door. Maybe it was a secret stash of illicit items. Maybe it was his personal store of galleons. After all, the Malfoy family  _ was _ loaded.

But no. It was empty. 

Scoffing silently and feeling a little silly for expecting riches, I watched as he placed a single green apple onto the shelf inside. He closed the door shakily, his head down and resting against the metal, and muttered a spell. I didn’t dare to breathe, expecting something fantastic to happen. Malfoy reopened the door and…the apple was gone. Okay, so he’s practicing disapparating objects. But why here? Why in this cabinet? 

Malfoy closed the door once more, saying the spell twice this time, with hope in his voice. He reopened the door and there it was again: the apple, shiny and fresh as it was--but with a deep gash in one side. He drew in a shuddering breath. Hands shaking, Malfoy slowly reached for the apple and held it gently, pain spreading across his face.

It was then that I remembered that no witch, wizard, or object can apparate on school grounds. My sense of dread returned. I realized I hadn’t breathed since the apple disappeared and took a gasping breath of stale, mildewy air that was exactly too loud.

Malfoy dropped the apple and turned instantly to the sound, and for the second time that day, our eyes met, sending a jolt of terror through my body. This time, I knew his expression. 

Rage.


	3. Chapter 3

“ _You filthy mudblood!_ ” Malfoy growled, his face contorted in anger and his pace quickening with every step toward my hiding spot. I saw him reaching for his wand.

I turned to run, but I’d stupidly chosen a space surrounded on all sides by shelves twice my height, with the only place to go straight towards Malfoy. I couldn’t get out of this. My heartbeat quickened with fear. I had no idea what he’d do to me. Why did I do this? Why did I follow him? I grasped my own wand as I cowered closer to the shelves and he finally reached me, looking down with a crazed look in his bloodshot eyes, his fingers twisting into his hair.

“Why did you follow me?” Malfoy demanded, shoving his wand at my face. “What is wrong with you?”

I couldn’t speak. My wand trembled in my hands, my mind racing with jinxes and curses.

He was inches from me. “Has your mudblood brain got everything mixed up? _Why are you here?!_ ” Malfoy began pacing anxiously and staring at me. Maybe my mudblood brain _was_ mixed up. I had forgotten how to say words.

Malfoy’s pacing suddenly stopped and he approached me again, so close I could feel the hot breath huffing from his nose.

“Okay, idiot girl. If you don’t speak up, I’m going to turn you into Snape for being out after hours. Just wait to see when he—”

I found my voice, and my confidence. The blood rushed back to my face. “What were you doing with that apple?” I asked suddenly.

Malfoy’s head jerked back in utter shock.

“What—What did you see?” He was being careful.

“I saw you make it disapparate and reapparate. How did you do that?”

“It’s none of your business.”

I scoffed weakly. He was being childish now. He didn’t expect to not be taken seriously. I stared up at him as he began to step away. I stepped closer, pushing his wand away from my face with my own.

“It seems rather curious that you would be in a mysterious room, toying with a mysterious cabinet, well after hours. This seems like something Dumbledore himself would be interested in hearing about.”

I wouldn’t tell that old bloke Dumbledore anything. It’s not like he cares about Slytherins anyway. I just wanted Malfoy to spill his secret.

He stammered, searching for words. I was affecting him. Suddenly, I was in control of the situation.

“Look, mudblood—”

“My name is Chrys. Call my by my name,” I demanded.

“I will not take orders from filth like you! You followed me here!” Malfoy screeched, his face reddening. He was on the offense again. “You don’t deserve to be in the Slytherin house. If you think you’re so bold following me here and snooping in my private affairs, you ought to go live with the Gryffindors. Go join Potter and his blood-traitor friends.”

Disgusted at him, at the situation, at the idea of being a Gryffindor, I spat in his face. “Don’t you dare say I’m less of a Slytherin. I’d never be one of _them_. Despite my bloodline, I am just as powerful as you are.”

His nose turned up. “Oh really, Campbell? So you’re entrusted to the most important duty to The Dark Lord? There is no witch or wizard at this school as powerful as me.”

At the mention of the name, my eyes widened. Draco was working with The Dark Lord? Surely not. Surely he was too young. I stared at him as he put out his slim chest proudly. I couldn’t believe it. Not him.

His bravado carried him forward. “Oh, don’t believe me, eh?” He said, reacting to my face of shock. “It’s true. And there’s no use going to any teachers about it—they wouldn’t believe you, either.”

I sat down slowly, using the shelves for balance. The world was spinning. We all knew Lucius Malfoy was a Death Eater. That must be why. I looked up at his sneering face from the dusty wooden floor, regaining my resolve.

“You know, I don’t care about any of that, right?” I said, forcing it to come out calmly and passively. “You don’t intimidate me by telling me these things.”

He recoiled, hard.  “Wh-Why not? Why haven’t you any fear of the wishes of The Dark Lord? He hates mudbloods most of all,” He snarled.

I paused, watching his face. “I don’t care what The Dark Lord thinks of me.”

His eyes narrowed.

I waited again, allowing for a response that didn’t come. “But I can tell you’re stuck. I’ve been watching you. You’re exhausted. That must have been the first time the spell worked for you, and even then, something went wrong, I could see it. You don’t have a real plan. I don’t know what you’re trying to do, but whatever it is, you don’t bloody know what you’re doing.”

With that, I closed my eyes and put my head between my knees. I just needed everything to stay still. My veins were racing with adrenaline and I was glad for the silence.

To my surprise, I felt the creaky floors move as he came to his knees in front of me. When I looked up, his hands were over his face, his wand lying on the ground. Emboldened by the sudden bout of peace, I slowly reached out and touched his arm as gently as possible. Shocked as though my touch had scalded his skin, he immediately jumped back up, holding his arm with distaste in his face.

“How dare you touch me, mudblood? And how _dare_ you question my greatness?” He was red with anger once again. But when he took a step to leave, he remembered his wand. I moved to pick it up and hand it to him, but he snatched it from the ground before I had the chance. With one more disgusted look at me, the disgusting mudblood, Malfoy stalked away, fury in every step. I laid back on the shelves and felt the tears begin flowing over my cheeks. I gave him time to get back to the common room before I began my own return.

I had seen tears in his eyes, too.

Malfoy was being torn apart, and now I was in the middle of it.


	4. Chapter 4

It was nearly six a.m. when I made it back into my dormitory. Fantastic, another sleep-deprived night, exactly what I needed.

I could have tried to get a bit of shut-eye before Transfigurations at nine, but I’d been shoving my homework to the side lately and needed to get some done. It wasn’t like I cared that much about my grades, but I figured I ought to at least get something done to avoid detention, especially with McGonagall. I grabbed for my bookbag, planning to get an essay written, but when I felt around for my textbooks, my hand was met with nothing but the leather lining. My heart skipped. Where was my stuff? Paranoia flooded my veins--did I leave it all on the table at lunch? Did Peeves snatch it all out as I was walking to class? Did Malfoy take everything before I got back, to have leverage on me? 

As I stood in the dimly lit dormitory trying desperately to recollect where my things were, I glanced wildly about, and there my books were: haphazardly spread across Tracey Davis’s bedclothes. I sighed wearily.

I’d never understood why Tracey wasn’t sorted into Ravenclaw. She was a halfblood after all, obsessed with getting perfect grades, and she somehow enjoyed doing her homework. She sometimes did my homework for me, if I did a favor for her in return. She even tutored me if I _ really _ needed it, and when wasn’t too proud to ask for it. I guess I could consider her my closest friend, if sitting in silence together in the common room is something friends do. I watched as she slept with her long black hair covering most of her face, her reading glasses askew, and trying not to disturb her, I carefully picked up the books and scrolls and placed them back in my bag. I didn’t even bother to look over her work to see if it was good; I knew it would be.

I plopped onto my bed fully clothed, and before I could form a complete thought about any of the day’s events, I’d drifted into deep, empty sleep. For a couple of hours, I could forget about the day’s events.

But it wasn’t long until I was jolted awake by Millicent somehow tripping onto my bedframe, then snorting like a pig at her own buffoonery. The memories flooded back into my consciousness, paralyzing me with anxiety for a moment. I sighed heavily to push it back and unwillingly I climbed out of bed and into decent clothes, hurrying down to breakfast before class started. 

But as I was approaching my normal seat at the Slytherin table in the Great Hall, I noticed Simon Winkler already sitting right beside where I normally sit.

Simon was a second year Hufflepuff boy, who for some reason fancied me and liked to follow me around, even risking sitting at the Slytherin table to do so. Brave kid, for a ‘Puff. Not the brightest, though.

I reluctantly took my spot beside him and immediately started on a bowl of oatmeal which he’d already prepared for me, with the exact amount of sugar and berries I liked. It did sometimes pay off to have a fan club of one. He chattered about how difficult his homework had been and I ignored him, like I always did on mornings like this, and looked out for my owl, Edgar. He came swooping in through one of the windows, laden with my usual weekly letter from home. The sizable barn owl landed gracefully in front of me and bowed, his dark eyes glinting at the fruit in my bowl. I smiled and fed him a blackberry, stroked his beautiful soft wing, and removed his burden before he lifted off again. Edgar seemed to be my family’s favorite part about the wizarding world, because he was practically human. They took good care of him while I was gone.

Knowing mostly what to expect, I opened my letter, written in my mum’s handwriting.

 

_ Dearest Chryssie, _

_ I do hope you are having the most marvelous of times at school. We quite appreciated your most recent letter--It assuages the mind of a mother to know her daughter is so well-rounded as you are, sweetie. I do hope you continue on this path to success you have laid for yourself. I do not know how those wizards treat your schooling, but do remember that we expect only the best performance from you, and that is final. If you are unable to secure enough “newts” to earn a place in your world, you will have to go to a “muggle” university, as you call it, along with your brother.  _

_ On the topic of Wyatt, I wanted to inform you on his behalf that Oxford has reached out to show their interest in his candidacy for enrollment. Your father and I are both very proud of him: So young, and yet shining above his peers. You know it is the Campbell way to rise above! We know you will do the same.  _

_ Best wishes and much love, _

_ Mum _

 

Yep. The same as it is every week: “You are so good! Now remember, Wyatt is successful. Don’t forget to be better than everyone else!” Running out of time before class, I slipped the parchment into my bag and nodded to Simon, signaling that I was leaving while he was in mid-sentence. He stopped abruptly and gave me a cheerful wave good-bye and I was off to Transfigurations. Why did he like me so much? It wasn’t like I gave him a reason to.

Maybe he was fascinated by the sole Slytherin mudblood. Maybe he thought I was pretty. No, it had to be the mudblood thing.

I watched the clock as McGonagall droned all through Transfigurations, my mind having wandered back to Draco’s sublunar activities. I couldn’t stop thinking about that moment of weakness he’d had, crouching before me. He was afraid of what he had to do, and I wished I knew what it was. I remembered how I’d dreamed the same events the night before, in Draco’s perspective. Was I seeing the future in my dreams? Didn’t sound too crazy in a world filled with hippogriffs and love potions. But, seeing as I’d failed my Divination OWL miserably, that didn’t seem too likely.

Maybe I’d been in his head while he ventured out the first night, experiencing everything he did. No, that’s not right. There is no magic that allows wizards to do such a thing. Certainly nothing I had been trained in.

Lost in thought, my legs carried me from class to class. I found myself avoiding Malfoy as much as physically possible and I dwelled on the dream I had experienced. But finally, I was in Defense Against the Dark Arts, my last and favorite class of the day, with Professor Snape. I paid slightly more attention, as he seemed to have a radar for detecting those not paying attention. It was as he was explaining the complexities of the stupification spell that I realized I needed to tell him what had happened--maybe he knew what the dream was. Maybe he already knew something about Malfoy’s activities. Malfoy had probably been bluffing when he said no teacher would care or believe me. Honestly, he’d probably been bluffing about the business with the Dark Lord, too. I didn’t even want to rat him out; I just needed to make sense of what I’d seen, and the only teacher I could trust to go to was Professor Snape.

After class ended I waited in my seat for the last of the students to trickle out, then approached his office with caution. This wasn’t the first time I’d gone to him, but previously I’d needed to clarify homework assignments or ask about potions I had heard about. Never had I gone to a teacher about a problem like this.

I swallowed hard, and knocked twice on the door.

“Enter,” called a low voice from inside.

I stepped in as respectfully as possible and Snape looked up from a bottle in his hand to me. He motioned for me to sit in front of the desk, and I quickly did so.

“Yes, Miss Campbell?”

I collected my thoughts carefully. “I believe there is something strange happening with Draco Malfoy.”

“Oh,” he replied, raising a black eyebrow, still inspecting the bottle. “And what _ exactly _ might that be?” 

“Two nights ago, I witnessed him sneaking out of the common room after hours. And last night, I--” I stopped, worried to confess I’d also been out after hours.

Snape looked up. “What, did your foolish conscience compel you follow? Were you so interested in tattling on a prefect you couldn’t stop yourself but investigate?”

I blinked at him, taken aback. “I-I...no, sir. It was mere curiosity. You see, I’d had this dr--”

“But you gallantly decided to follow anyway.”

I looked into my lap. “Professor, he was making an apple apparate and disapparate on school grounds, using a cabinet of sorts.”

Snape abruptly set the bottle he’d been viewing onto the desk, stood up, and walked to his shelves. His tone changed, his words flowing quickly. “Did Mr. Malfoy not detect your presence at any point?”

“Erm--,” I stuttered, “Yes. We...spoke, and he left before I did. He was not pleased.”

“Well, Miss Campbell, that is how those who have been unknowingly followed typically react. It was not in good taste to sneak out of the common room and interfere with the business of a prefect.” 

I was shocked he was reprimanding me. He didn’t seem to care about Malfoy’s actions, or even seem surprised. I began to regret ever entering this room. But I still had something to clear up. I could trust him, right? He knew I was a good student, and he always favored us Slytherins.

“Sir, I had a dream the first night after watching Malfoy leave the common room.  _ I _ was Malfoy, and I went to the exact place I followed him to the very next night. It was almost like I was experiencing Malfoy’s actions as I did them, which was what caused me to follow him the next night--Is...is it possible for a witch or wizard to unwittingly dream about what someone else is doing?”

In an instant, Snape had gotten to the door and opened it.

“ _ Out _ ,” he commanded. Wait, what? Had I said something wrong?

Confusedly, I got out of the chair and walked through the threshold, trying to glance at the professor’s face and understand what he was thinking, but he’d slammed the door right behind me. I heard the loud  _ click _ of the lock sliding into place. I was left staring at an empty classroom and feeling my hands shake.

That went swimmingly.

Trembling, I made my way down the moving staircases to the dungeons, even more lost than I’d been at the day’s start. Some of the paintings seemed offhandedly concerned about my physical state: sweating, trudging down the steps, my arms wrapped around me. But I ignored them.


	5. Chapter 5

When I returned it to my regular corner seat in the common room, I made a pact to myself that I would not, under any circumstances, wait up again for Malfoy. I couldn’t mentally handle another night of his escapades. 

No. Instead, I would get all my homework done and work on my letter to home like a good girl, then retire to my dormitory at a decent time. I laid all my books out across my lap and got to work, trying to ensure that I “rose above the rest” just like my Campbell name dictated I did so. At least my family had no concept of success in the wizarding world; I could just tell them that B’s are like A-pluses here, and they’d believe me. 

I was in the middle of a paragraph about tidpelps in my Magical Creatures textbook when my head began to droop. Wow, these creatures were so boring. My eyelids got heavier and heavier, and I found myself unable to fight the sudden wave of sleepiness. Not a problem. Just finish this paragraph, Chrys. Then you can go down to bed. 

But then I was asleep. And dreaming again. But this time, I couldn’t see anything. I could only feel--it was fear. Mortification. I was being chastised, and this time, I’d done something worse. Wait, this time? Now, it was anger.

My shoulder was being shaken. Why am I so angry? Please stop shaking my shoulder, it hurts. 

Suddenly, I snapped out of the dream and opened my eyes to blackness. I could feel I was still slumped in my chair, and a tall, thin shadow was looming over me.

“We’re going to have a chat,” the figure said. Still bleary with the intensity of the dream, I felt myself being forcefully pulled up onto my feet, my books cascading to the floor with muffled thumps. I nearly fell back down from the rush of blood to my head as my arm was grabbed by cold, clammy fingers, and my legs began moving automatically with the pull of the shadow in front of me. We were going up the steps, out of the room. I couldn’t feel anything but the fingers around my arm.

As my mind caught up to me along the hallway, I realized this tall figure must be Malfoy. I didn’t bother to ask where we were going. I just didn’t want to go back to that mysterious room with the mysterious cabinet. Nothing made sense there.

And then my emotions flooded in. More than just confusion: embarrassment, anger,  _ terror _ . Why was he dragging me someplace? Was Malfoy going to hurt me because he told me his secret? To my bewilderment, we turned down yet another unfamiliar hallway, leaving me disoriented yet again.

I began to smell fresh night air and I realized this must have been some exit I’d never discovered before. He really didn’t want anyone to find us, if he was taking us here. Anxiety pumped through my veins and my breathing turned ragged and strained. 

Malfoy didn’t bother to shut me up. We had to have been already safe from possible onlookers.

I felt the ground change from stone to grass and crickets chirped softly beneath our feet. I felt a chill suspended in the air, threatening winter to come. Finally, my eyes adjusted and the faint moonlight allowed me to see what Malfoy was doing. 

The blood rushed back into my arm as he released his grip and began to pace a few feet in front of me. My knees gave in and I collapsed to the ground on all fours, sputtering to catch my breath. I looked up to Malfoy, who was now facing away from me. I fumbled for my wand and acted before I could think.

“ _ Levicorpus! _ ” I yelled. Without warning, Malfoy was hoisted into the air as if a rope were tied to his ankle, and he flailed helplessly as I thought how to approach what was happening. 

“I’m going to let you down. But I can’t simply  _ chat _ when I’ve been dragged onto the grounds in the middle of the night! How can I trust you?”

“ _ Just let me down! _ ”

I was sweating despite the chilly night air. I murmured “ _ Liberacorpus _ ” and he fell unceremoniously to the ground. As Malfoy coughed and brushed his robes off, I prepared myself with a shield charm before he could fight back. But instead of drawing his wand, he remained facing away from me.

“I don’t even need to speak, do I?” he whispered, nearly inaudible.

“You--what? Why?” The confusion piled on. Couldn’t he just get this over with, so I could stop thinking about how there would be no witnesses to what could happen here? I kept my wand drawn, my brow furrowed.

“Don’t act so pathetic. I know you’re in my head, listening to every thought.”

“What?! You dragged me out here, and...I...I don’t understand what this is about,” I ended weakly. I did sound pathetic.

“Stop acting like a fool!” he growled, turning around slowly. I stood up. The soft grass was whispering faintly in the breeze and the stars shone like a halo on the horizon. Everything felt so tranquil, and we were disturbing it.

He continued, approaching me steadily. “Snape told me about your special little skill. About how you’ve been prodding my mind.” Our faces were two feet away when he stopped.

“Wait--what?” I gasped. “I--,”

His face contorted in anger. “How could the power of legilimency possibly make it into your filthy veins?” His hand moved for his wand and I acted without thinking. My hand snapped up to meet his arm and before he could react, I’d twisted it and pinned it against his back, shoving him onto the grass. He flailed helplessly, spewing curses. 

“I have no clue what you’re going on about, Malfoy. I think you need to clear some things up before I dislocate your shoulder.” I was bluffing. In fact, I had no idea how I’d taken down a 17-year-old guy so quickly in the first place, but he was whimpering under my grip. Clearly he wasn’t accustomed to physical fights. “I have no special power. What are you talking about?!”

He spat, then finally found his tongue. “You stupid mudblood. You’re a legilimens. Don’t act like you don’t already know this. You’ve been reading my mind.”

My brain reeled. I’d never even heard the word he’d called me. It wasn’t true. I had one dream. 

“What are you talking about? What--who told you?” I cut my questions off there, worried I would reveal too much, still leaning all my weight on him as he struggled to get away.

“Snape. Snape told me you’ve been in my thoughts. You saw me going to the cabinet in your dreams. That’s why you followed me. Now, let  _ go _ of me!”

Reluctantly, I loosened my hold, allowing him to cradle his sore arm. We remained sitting in the grass, looking cautiously at each other. The moonlight shone off his blonde hair and his eyes burned into mine, revealing his own fear. 

“So why did you drag me all the way out here? What was your plan?” I asked. None of this was making sense.

“I—I don’t know. Why are you even asking me questions? You should already know these things,” he replied, his voice tinged with suspicion. 

“Look, I can’t control any of this. I don’t understand what’s happening inside my own head.”

“You don’t understand, Campbell? Your mudblood brain gets all mixed up, does it?” He leaned in, mockingly.

His prejudice over muggleborns was so deeply-set, he could hardly view me as a human being. 

“Okay, Malfoy, shut it,” I said. “I’m still trying to figure this out myself. It only happens when I’m asleep, and it didn’t start until a few nights ago. It’s always so foggy, too…” 

His expression shifted from something unexpected, almost teasing. “So you’ve been dreaming about me,” Malfoy replied, perplexed. His smirk began to spread across his face. How could he be twisting this around right now? Was he playing me?

“No, dimwit. I’m having visions  _ as _ you. The first night I caught you sneaking out, something strange happened when you looked at me. It was like…your perspective flashed in my mind. I had no idea what it was, though. That night, while I slept, I dreamt I was going to that cabinet. I looked in a mirror and—and there was your face looking back at me. It made no sense and I thought it was just a dream at first, until I watched you do the same thing the next night. I thought I was dreaming about the future or something.” I huffed a sigh. These strange feelings were finally starting to come together: I was somehow connected to Malfoy, whether I wanted to be more not. I watched his face twist back up in denial.

“You’re lying. You’re trying to make me believe you can’t read my mind. I have no reason to trust you, mudblood.”

I paused. “Did you feel that same change of perspective?”

Malfoy fell silent, thinking. He crossed his legs in front of me and stared at the grass. I shifted a little closer to him. He looked up, silver-blonde hair in his eyes.

“You’re mental. You are mental, and you’re screwing with my thoughts.” 

I shut my eyes. “You know what? I give up. I know how lost you are. There’s no use reasoning with you.”

His eyes squinted. “Have you any idea what I’m going through—Snape lecturing me and you toying with my mind on top of everything—to make you feel as though you could possibly understand?”

The night’s chill had made its way to my bones and I shivered. My brain clicked and I realized my dream tonight must have been Draco getting chewed out by Snape--how many more experiences had I stolen from his head? I snapped back to the conversation, exasperated.

“Well, I  _ have _ seen your thoughts. So I think it’s safe to assume I understand on some level.”

Malfoy stared at me, shocked at my boldness. I looked down into my lap and realized our knees were only a few inches away from each other in the grass. All my confidence expended, I nervously pushed my hair behind my ears. This was the closest I’d ever been to him, and I didn’t know if I wanted to run away in disgust or inch ever closer. I hated that I already knew which I’d prefer.

“I have no choice,” he whispered softly. “I have to trust you.”


	6. Chapter 6

Over the next week, I caught Malfoy everywhere. His meals always seemed to end up at the same time as mine; he coincidentally began sitting in the common room chair which just so happened to be directly across the room from the one I frequent the most, where I felt him staring me down all too often; and once leaving the bathroom I caught him leaned against a nearby wall, as if waiting for nothing. He was following and watching me. Clearly, his idea of “trusting me” was a little different from mine.

He was becoming more of a pain than the Simon kid. I wanted to talk to him again, whether out of annoyance or burning curiosity about what the hell was going on. 

One afternoon, after noticing him walking deliberately twenty steps behind me the entire way out to the lake where I wanted to study, I decided it was enough. I wheeled around toward him with my books in hand, my hair flying around my face and catching in my mouth. As I awkwardly stood picking the hair out of my mouth, Malfoy made a slight veer in the other direction, perhaps in an attempt to convince me he hadn’t actually just followed me halfway across the grounds. He was cut short, however, when I called to him:

“ _ Malfoy!  _ Could you just leave me alone?”

I thought I caught his cheeks turn pink, and slowly his shoulders turned to me as he realized he wasn’t getting out of this. He skulked over to me, his long legs making large strides across the grass.

I stood with my hands on my hips at first but, realizing it looked prudeish and motherly, quickly corrected my posture. However, it didn’t seem to make a difference as Malfoy simply walked directly past me, without a glance in my direction. He began to sit down by the lake, but with a slight sneer of disgust at the muddy bank, decided against soiling his perfectly black robes.

I stood behind him. He didn’t say anything. My face felt hot, but I spoke up anyway.

“What? Do you think that because I can read your mind, I’m the only one who has to talk? It doesn’t quite work that way,” I spat. A week before, I had never spoken more than a few words to Malfoy. And there I was, stuck, no idea how to communicate with him. I hadn’t even seen into his thoughts since the dream of him and Snape.

Turning slightly, he muttered, “You may not have full access to my head, but you can’t pretend to know nothing. I don’t know what you’re going to do with any information you already know. I can’t simply leave you alone--”

“You said you would trust me.” This conversation was getting a little odd, with me talking to his back.

He was silent.

I stalked across the grass to set my books down on a dry patch. Huffing, I sat beside them, knees to my chest.

Finally he spoke up again, turning a bit to me. “It’s not so easy,” he muttered.

Of course. “It’s not so easy trusting a  _ mudblood? _ ” 

Silence for a moment again. I stared up at the sky, so abnormally blue after what felt like such a dismal week. The grass was even greener by contrast. God, why was today so beautiful? I wanted to hurl. Or curse Malfoy to make  _ him _ hurl. I couldn’t see inside his head the way he thought I could. I only saw the rule-breaking, dark side of his thoughts, and only in snippets in dreams. I only saw the side I never wanted to know existed.

Malfoy sighed almost dramatically, pulling me out of my head. I could tell he wanted to say something, but it was almost as if he didn’t feel I deserved hearing it.

And, at last, his blue eyes were fixed on me. “It’s not so easy staying away from you.”

Something dark and twisted inside me made me laugh out loud. What was this? What game was Malfoy playing? He looked absolutely taken aback at my reaction, clearly not getting the response he’d expected.

“Oh, so you knew,” he surmised with a forced blank expression. “Figures.” He didn’t seem able to maintain his facade for long as he turned back toward the murky lake.

I didn’t know what he thought I knew, but I was tired of the smoke and mirrors. I strode up to him, reached out my hand and yanked his shoulder to face me. His face was curled up as though disgusted but also. . .pained. 

“I don’t know what you’re trying to do here. I know you’re revolted by me. You can’t make some wild professions of attraction to convince me that you’re simply following me around like--like some starry-eyed puppy.”

I panted, the adrenaline still reeling through my veins. Malfoy’s expression changed to something entirely unrecognizable.

“I don’t understand you,” Malfoy croaked.

“You don’t understand anyone who goes against what you want.”

“Maybe you’re right. But maybe you don’t know my head as well as I thought.”

Without as much as a too-da-loo, he whisked back around, turning away from me, and set off back across the grounds. I watched his hair glinting in the sun until he was out of sight.

Still reeling from that incredibly dramatic encounter, I turned and picked up my books in a daze. Why did every interaction I had with Malfoy have to be yelling matches overflowing with confusion and distaste? I never wanted to have to talk to him again, see him again, think of him again. . .

. . . and yet, there was no way I could shake him out of my thoughts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 7 on its way, with a lot of payoff.


End file.
